47 Days
by DrKCooper
Summary: A post-ep (rewrite?) for "Ready or Not" (4x18). My first Joanlock sex scene. Rated M.
_Disclaimer: All recognizable_ Elementary _characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including, but not limited to CBS. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fan fiction story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No financial gain is associated with the publishing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended._

Author's note: I couldn't help but think of this after Fiona almost dumped Sherlock in "Ready or Not" (4x18). Pretend she had succeeded at dumping him and Joan was at home instead of out. You know, just your usual suspend 'all disbelief and enjoy' 'ship. My first Joanlock sex scene. -dkc

 **47 Days**

Joan Watson was a woman in complete control of herself. Nothing she did was without consideration. Nothing she did could be called impulsive.

Until he told her Fiona had dumped him. Until that moment she was in control of her feelings. Now, all bets were off. A door had been opened.

He had said he would be in his room if she needed him. He didn't want to talk about what had happened. He didn't relieve how he felt, he rarely did.

She sat in the living room drinking tea and running through in her mind the conversation they had about the unusual computer savant. No part of it pointed to a reason for the breakup.

One thing kept repeating in her mind and as hard as she tried, she couldn't bury the motivation behind her thinking of it. She had listened to him explain how much he wanted to get it right with Fiona. She had even told him she was proud of him. That hadn't been a lie; she had seen changes in him recently. But that wasn't what she sought to bury.

47 days. 47 days he had been celibate.

Had that been the time between his meeting Fiona and now? Had he been interested in her immediately? Why was his not having sex of such interest to her?

In the time they'd known one another, Sherlock had both had an active sex life and had not resisted speaking often of it. She knew most of his various partners and occasionally knew what was happening under her own roof while she happened to be under it as well.

This was different. Knowing that he hadn't had sex in 47 days had the wheels of her mind spinning.

Had he regretted his self-imposed celibacy? Had he resorted to solo release? Did he feel urges to break the spell? Was he already planning his first hook up?

"God help me," Joan whispered to herself.

She nearly spilled her cup of tea when a quizzical sound came from the quite shirtless man who had entered the room at that moment.

"Nothing," she spoke quickly.

Looking for something on the bookshelf, Sherlock seemed unconcerned with her and thankfully so on Joan's part as her eyes selfishly took the sight of him in. In a pair of sweatpants that sat low on his hips, barefoot and, as always, shrouded in ink, he was an attractive sight. She couldn't tear her eyes from the parts of him that were exposed as well as the possibility of the parts that weren't.

What was it about the situation with Fiona that had made her housemate so much more irresistible to Joan? What was happening? She hadn't been home when Fiona arrived, but with the woman's departure a switch seemed to have been flipped for Joan.

"Ah, yes, as I suspected," he spoke confidently before placing the book back on the shelf.

"Oh?" she prevented her eyes from traveling the defined muscles of his back now that he was paying attention once again.

"I had read in the paper this morning of a case of suspected arson and the accelerant they listed was on site due to a cleaning business in the building. However, as I suspected, the accelerant is not used as a degreasing agent in the States. In fact, it has never been used in the States. It was most certainly brought in the site by the perpetrator or perpetrators. It seems our colleagues at the illustrious NYPD got it wrong."

He no sooner finished speaking before he was nearly out of the room.

"Sherlock," she caught his attention before he was out of sight.

"Yes, Watson?" he turned, standing erect as he so regularly did.

Jane's eyes were again drawn to him, his chest in this case. When his eyes caught hers appraising him, she was quick to look elsewhere and shrug off her thoughts.

"Nevermind," she replied.

He nodded before exiting.

She shook her head as if to banish her thoughts. But it was her heart and something else that was guiding her now.

When she reached his door she was surprised to find it slightly ajar. She took a deep breath before poking her head in. She found him on the floor doing sit-ups, his muscles flexing with every movement. He hadn't noticed her as his back was to her each time he came up from the floor toward his knees.

Joan Watson had never taken him in quite like this. It was causing her to flush and she no longer cared how it could be perceived.

She finally stepped through the open door and he noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, Watson?" Sherlock continued his sit-ups; his voice was even.

"I…" she had no idea what to say as her eyes remained firmly on the tattooed muscles rippling in his shoulders and back.

"Can I do something for you?" he stopped midway to his knees and turned to face her.

He twisted in a way that further accentuated his oblique muscles, abs and deltoids. As a surgeon, she appreciated the places where muscles met or overlapped. As a woman, well, that was another matter entirely.

Sherlock read Joan like a book. He knew.

"I don't believe I've seen that particular expression on your face before, Watson. I know better than to think you have ever directed it at me, but I must say I am confused by its appearance in this moment," he spoke with the matter-of-fact confidence he was known for.

"It has not been directed at you previously and it would likely be a mistake to allow it to continue now," she said this while looking straight at him.

"While I am usually aware of subtle shifts in conversation and interaction, I'm afraid I do not know what transpired between my speaking to you and you entering my bedroom."

He stood from the floor, his sweats dipping a bit lower on his hips, both hipbones nearly revealed. Her eyes forsake her.

"47 days of celibacy affects a man," Sherlock spoke, taking a step closer. "It causes heightened desires. As far as I can remember it has been longer than 47 days since you last participated in sexual intercourse, though you are generally less bothered by such droughts. Therefore, I am at a loss to why you are exhibiting such arousal."

Joan scrunched up her face at the thought of him knowing when she had last slept with a man. She let that go quickly as she considered a suitable response.

"Is it so surprising that I might find you in the state in which you are in both attractive and desirable?" she put a hand on her hip.

He looked down at his glistening chest and back at Joan.

"I shall ask once again, is there something you need?" he stepped forward again leaving but a foot between himself and Joan.

"Dammit, Sherlock…" she huffed, closing the space between them as her lips pressed into his.

"You know exactly what I need," she breathed against his mouth.

His hands were immediately grasping her head as he pulled her further into a fiery kiss. He allowed one hand to drop away, instead grabbing hold of her hip to guide all of her toward him. His tongue entered her mouth simultaneously and she moaned.

Sherlock was not about to waste time. He had often fantasized about a moment not unlike this one when she would offer herself to him.

When her hands wrapped around his neck, he slipped his own behind her hips and then skillfully scooped her up. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, pressing her center against washboard abs.

Their kissing was a 4-alarm blaze.

Kicking closed his bedroom door, he then pressed her body against it. His mouth explored her neck. He suspected she could feel his erection as she was attached to his body just above it.

His mouth had made its way beneath the loose collar of her pajama shirt, kissing, tasting and nibbling. She clung to his neck, shoulders and biceps. When be sucked at the pulse point beneath her ear, the sound she made was nearly the end of him. He put her down and went to her waistband, easily loosening her pajamas before dropping them to the floor.

Pulling her toward the large chair in the corner of the room, he was about to sit down when she stopped him. Her hands went to the front of his sweats, excruciatingly close to his cock, and released the drawstring. Yanking once, his sweats lowered to beneath his firm round cheeks, allowing the access she desired. He then sat in the chair and watched as she straddled his knees.

"I bet this isn't what you thought I came in here for," she nervously chuckled, her eyes never leaving Sherlock's lap.

Seeking to soothe her nerves and move them along, he took control. He reached for her inner thigh where he circled the sensitive skin there before teasingly tracing the edge of her panties. They stared into one another's eyes as he slipped a finger beneath the fabric to draw a line through her moisture.

Her hips bucked and she let out a strangled moan when he suddenly pushed a finger inside her.

Joan's legs were weakening with every stroke and she was afraid she could no longer stand. Using a hand against her hip to guide her, she knelt on the oversized chair, her knees firmly against his outer thighs.

It was when she leaned in to kiss him again that Sherlock lost patience. He pulled his finger out of her, joining with several others and then yanking her panties aside.

Despite the hammering of blood pumping in her ears, Watson heard the fabric rip.

Holding aside the fabric, he tested her with the subtle touch of his tip to her glistening opening. She was more than ready, as her frustrated sigh was proof. Tilting her pelvis and lowering herself allowed his entrance.

They could both feel her holding her breath as he entered her. Once fully enveloped, Sherlock reminded her to breathe. She took no more than three breaths before her mouth attached to his and her hips encouraged him to move. His hips began to lull her to orgasm.

It shouldn't have surprised either of them that their rhythm together would be so easy to find. Much like their partnership, it was natural.

Joan slowly slid off of Sherlock, frustrating him. She had only done so, urging him forward in the chair so she could wrap her legs around behind him. When she lowered herself he understood the action. Their new position was one that couldn't be achieved with her kneeling. He was now fully inside her and they were both spurred on by the heightened pleasure.

"Your hands," she murmured.

She had meant she wanted them on her breasts, but found herself more pleased by him using one to grope her breast, playing with her nipple, and one forcing its way between their bodies so that a finger might press against her clit. It was no secret where Watson was heading.

Sherlock's stroking motion with his finger matched the pace of his hips and as his tongue reached the deepest point it could in her mouth, the quakes of Joan's release began.

He couldn't sustain the pressure on his cock as she clenched around him. He came.

"Fuck," he rarely used curse words to express himself. However, this seemed an apt time to do so.

She panted into and against his mouth as he sporadically kissed her. Their hips slowed, though they were still coming down.

"God, Sherlock," she hummed.

"Mmm," he leaned his head against the side of her face until she began to unwrap herself from him, both her legs and center.

"I hope this won't change the way you think of me," she said, reaching for her pajama pants on the floor.

"If by that you mean in a way that is less than how I have thought of you prior to tonight, that is an impossibility, Watson. However, if you mean that it is your wish that I consider you as a sexual being henceforth, I cannot trust myself to do that."

Joan's eyes bore into his soul.

He broke the eye line between them, coming to full height long enough to pull up his sweats. He then returned to sitting down, found her dark eyes once again and extended his hand to her.

"Whilst you have been my partner, I have never neglected to see you as a woman. It may be a failing of mine, I grant you, but it is the truth nonetheless," she had taken his hand and allowed him to reel her in closer.

"Admittedly, tonight isn't the first time you have been shirtless and I have noticed," she smiled at this.

"Might I expect you to need me in a similar way in the future?" his tone was serious, not like hers.

She leaned down and pressed a tender to kiss to his lips by way of response. When she pulled away, a subtle nod was the final word. This would not be an anomaly in their relationship.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she smiled softly.

"Goodnight, Watson."

She released his hand and walked out of his bedroom, his eyes never leaving her until she was completely out of sight and even then he remained staring at his bedroom door.

- _finis_ -


End file.
